I must admit, I’ve been remiss with reporting my progress with querying agents. Here’s the thing: it’s impossible to report the results of querying if you’re not doing it. Yet. Learning how to nail the query is the most tedious enterprise I’ve engaged in since starting my writing project three years ago. [Side bar: isn’t the word query the most annoying word ever?]
Since I write within the narrow niche of paranormal and Southern gothic, I’ve developed new skills in identifying agents who represent these genres. It takes time and diligence. Add the fact that the publishing market is starved for books written in diversified voices (not my genre), and sometimes my uphill journey slides backward.
I press on, though, I hesitate. My reluctance to dive into these uncharted waters is not for any reason you may imagine. My hesitation doesn’t stem from the fear of rejection, though clearly, I’d be lying if I said I’m super pumped to hear an agent say, “we’re passing on your project for now”. And it’s not because I think my manuscript requires an extensive overhaul. No, my reluctance lingers because I now recognize the power of a novel’s inner story, those layers resting beneath the major plot points. And that’s where tweaking is necessary.
I’ve been hanging out during the past few weeks, examining my inner story. Leslie Leyland Fields, who teaches Your Story Matters, the writing class I’m currently side-tracked with, told her students on Day One, “If you’re working on a book right now, put it away for a couple of months. I can guarantee you won’t regret it.” She promised to guide us in producing a deeper plateau of Story. I listened to my writing teacher’s advice. And I’m glad I did.
In writing class, we’ve been examining memories through a shift in paradigm. The catharsis is unbelievable. When you explore memory and examine it from the perspective of others, you face the fact that memories hold different viewpoints. You ask, “Did I remember things well?” When you write creative non-fiction, you strive for objectivity because you’re digging through the outer story – it’s the inner story that beckons your interest. That’s where a gem awaits.
Courage is necessary when acknowledging the inner linings of memory. How have I changed? What did I learn, going forward? How can I reflect and offer inspiration to others? During the past month of writing, I’ve conceded to the power of the inner story, both for myself and for the main characters of The Phantom Wife. I understand what my editor meant when she kept asking, “Are you certain your character would do this?” And I replied, “Sure, why not?” And she’d ask again. “Be absolutely sure. Her actions will change how a reader relates.” Now I get it. Characters’ actions need to support the novel’s inner story.
The MC of The Phantom Wife, Suzanne, is clairsentient. Since she communicates with spirits, she straddles two overlapping worlds where the living and the stranded intercept. Hmm, here’s an inner story that resonates. Though fictional, Suzanne strives for acceptance in a world that claims to embrace diversity yet slams against it instead. I’m guessing a reader or two likely identifies with my MC’s frustration. And I’m certain this realization changes the novel’s pitch to agents.
Inner stories are bred to offer inspiration. That’s why they need acknowledgment. Sorry, I can’t press SEND just yet. Suzanne deserves a little more attention from her creator.
